


A Fate Worse Than Death

by RissyNicole



Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Angst, Dib is out for blood, Drama, Gen, He and Zim both have major issues, Takes place nearly twenty years after the series/movie, Trauma, ZADE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:13:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26804917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RissyNicole/pseuds/RissyNicole
Summary: One day, in the distant future, Zim is the unquestioned conqueror of Earth. A grown Dib leads an underground resistance, and tonight is the night that their plans come to fruition and Zim is overthrown once and for all.
Comments: 19
Kudos: 59





	A Fate Worse Than Death

**Author's Note:**

>   
> Art created and owned by CozyMochi. Full-sized image can be found [here](https://64.media.tumblr.com/689233c2ca77b92390152442c01d57e7/59e904fb7d27b1a1-5e/s2048x3072/d11a835447dd6ed9dd1f5c7f15165ba0f92c9a57.jpg).
> 
> *This is a fair warning before you read: this is a pretty bleak fic in terms of tone and content. Nobody really makes it through looking like "the good guy" and as a whole, it's meant to be interpreted however you may choose. I didn't really have a clear agenda or message when I wrote it. I don't often write just pure angst like this, so I understand if it is not everyone's cup of tea. We all have to do what we need to in order to protect our hearts, especially during stressful times. If reading depressing fics does more harm than good for you, then perhaps this is one to skip. Stay safe, friends.

Overhead, the sun rose over the dusty sky, just as it always had. Down below, the wind blew through the remaining trees and down the barren streets, all the same. From the carved etches of dirt and rock, small muddy streams trickled, the water indifferent to its own lack of clarity.

For neither the sun, wind, nor water saw the horrors that had wracked the Earth and shaken the life upon it in the last two decades. Or if they had, they didn't care. They simply did their jobs, dutifully reminding those who still remained on the planet that these assets had not gone away. They were constants that were cherished in a world where nothing else held any weight in certainty.

Presently, the sun beamed down on a pale, sullen face as the wind simultaneously rustled the long muss of black hair with an almost derisive playfulness. Dib raised one hand and smoothed it back down brusquely.

His once bright and curious tawny eyes had faded somewhat, leaving them with a sort of hardened blankness that was somehow piercing in its own right. Combined with his weathered skin, deep under-eye circles, and ubiquitous stubble that took up the latter half of his face, he gave off a certain vibe that both invited respect and served as a physical reminder of the agedness that came with what he had undergone. What they all had undergone. The true end of the world as they knew it.

For Dib, however, it was more than just losing his home.

Zim had ensured his greatest enemy receive special treatment. The first thing he had done upon securing the planet and enslaving humanity was line a shackled Dib up side by side with the rest of his family members. There, he faced them haughtily as if he were about to give a little monologue to the three. Perhaps he had. Dib couldn't remember.

What he could remember, however, was the sound of Gaz's body hitting the ground, followed closely by the heavier sound of his father's as they were shot execution style beside him.

The pungent smell of blood and the explosion of devastation he'd felt in his chest in those moments still managed to plague his nightmares, even after nearly two decades. It was like a haunting refrain, never able to be forgotten or repressed.

Just when Zim had appeared to be about to shoot Dib dead as well, he lowered the plasma gun to his side and a wicked grin stretched across his face. "Ha! Did you really think I'd let you off this easily? You're only my greatest trophy, putrid little Earth creature. Have fun living what your species might call 'a fate worse than death.'"

_A fate worse than death._

A fate living day to day as a human slave right under Zim's nose. A fate without his family, a home, or even a single friend. He worked day in, day out doing manual labor for Zim's Irken utopia. The charred remains of Earth now harbored tiny corrals of humans that had been left alive to work as slaves in what had once been Dib's hometown.

The largest corral was at the base of a large watch tower Zim had resurrected for himself. There, this particular group consisted of many of the town members Zim and Dib had once attended primary school with.

For the most part, the prisoners here had worked in a quiet solidarity, laying low in order to preserve their own lives. In recent years, however, what appeared on the outside to be broken spirits slowly began to talk… and talk… and talk. Until, finally, a group formed, growing slowly but steadily until it could be called something a little more official than a mere group. It was a revolution, or something akin to it.

Early on, Dib had impulsively broken any silence he might have had, mainly because he couldn't resist correcting the many erroneous assumptions about Zim, his race, and his personality. Rumors had spread like wildfire, and it was utterly apparent that most of the townspeople knew absolutely nothing about the Irken even after living in such close proximity to him for years.

It was at one point during one these half-hearted rants that the room went still.

"You used to be obsessed with him in junior high…" a pale, black haired woman had finally said.

"Yeah… you probably have all sorts of inside information on him," chimed another person. "Tell us more!"

"Yes! Give us more information! All the information you have!"

And so it went. For better or for worse, Dib became the leader of the resistance.

For the first time in his life, he was listened to, viewed with merit in his words and actions, and unequivocally trusted by the rest. It should have been everything he had ever hoped for.

And yet… it wasn't.

They saw him as their leader, yes, but it had molded itself into the emptiest definition of the role possible. It was self-serving. Inauthentic. Not once did anyone view him as anything but a goldmine for information. Nobody truly cared for him; they simply wanted to milk information out of him. They concocted their own plan, more or less, but delegated Dib as something of a fact checker. When they weren't coming together to discreetly discuss their plan to overthrow Zim, Dib was all but forgotten.

This waning day, while appearing no different than all the rest, was important. This was the day they would finally put their plan into action.

Separate groups would surround Zim's forces, disarm them, and allow entry to his private quarters. There, Dib would take care of Zim.

It was the sole thing he had been outspoken about. He wanted to be the one to stop Zim once and for all. Nobody argued with his adamancy to do it himself. For if they did, who knew what would come of it? Their worst fear was that he would stop spoon feeding them information about Zim.

Dib would enter the tower, track down Zim, and kill him. Without him or his technology, humanity would be liberated at last.

But that was the extent of the plan that the others knew about.

Dib had his own secret plan for the thereafter. He had decided late at night that once Zim was dead, he would take his Voot Runner as his own and quietly leave the planet altogether. He felt enough confidence that there was nothing on Earth to offer him that he could bring himself to do it.

He had nothing tying him there. The planet was covered with the ruins and reminders of a civilization that had to be rebuilt from the bottom up. As for people, he had no one worth staying for. No one who cared for him to even question if he stayed.

Perhaps, just perhaps, if someone had the mind to even ask before he left, he would find it in him to consider it. Just a single "where are you going?" or "why are you leaving?" from any one of his fellow prisoners.

He hated that it was something that kept him awake at night. It wasn't anything more than a sad little deal he'd made with himself. That if anyone on this Earth could show that they cared… then he'd have just a single scrap of faith in his own worth.

Call it pathetic. Call it self-pitying. Egocentric. Whatever. He was bitter and trapped inside himself, blinded to the rationale he had been taught to use. It proved to be dangerously easy to fall into a pit of blind self-despair when he was left to his own devices, alone and entwined in those unsavory thoughts in the darkness of night. For eighteen years, he had been trapped on the hollow shell of the planet he once knew, stuck in the hollow shell of the man he once dreamed he would be.

As time passed without a guiding sign, the judgement of others stopped carrying the weight it once did. If anything, the effort of an eyeroll or a scoff at his thought process would be a sign in and of itself that someone _cared_ enough to judge.

When Dib finished his work for the day and returned to the prison camps, he was instantly hit with the quiet buzz of conversation. For the first time in what felt like forever, people spoke in voices reminiscent of the animation they once felt in the world they once knew. They knew full well that such a thing was foolish, but even so, their elation tried its damndest to peek through prematurely.

Dib did not join in. Rather, he parted the crowd with the heaviness of his presence alone, stopping at the end of the room and facing them. Those who were nearest him ceased talking and looked up.

He stood, stoically waiting until all eyes were on him. Sure enough, the conversation dimmed, and a dozen pairs of eyes turned towards him. Little sparks of fire gleamed in them all. Dib wondered if his eyes reflected that, too, and felt a twinge at his heart when he realized that they likely did not. Very few things could stir him these days.

"We have spent months carefully strategizing, taking notes, and plotting to take back the Earth from Zim. Tonight, we put our plan into effect."

He paused, looking over the people before him.

"On many occasions, he has claimed his leaders, along with the rest of the Irken Armada, will arrive to take control of the planet. They have yet to do so even after eighteen years. We have obtained evidence that his leaders have cut him off long ago, refusing to send anymore supplies from their home world. This puts Zim at an extreme disadvantage.

Without any intervention from others of his race, he has been left to rule Earth with what he has at his disposal."

Dib paused again to take a breath. "This means his forces are made up entirely of machinery and robots he, himself, has created. While their danger is not to be taken lightly, a majority of this AI is not advanced enough to overtake a mass ambush.

"They are stationed in groups of three around Zim's control tower where they guard the outside. Group A will attack from the North, B from the South, C from the East, and D from the West.

"Zim, himself, will be at the topmost level of the building, where he spends his time overseeing the camps and residing in his private chambers. I will handle him."

Dib continued to run through the plan to the waiting ears of his comrades, some of the last of Earth's survivors.

Finally, he finished his speech, and they left the camp without a single stir.

Dib had eyes only for his part in the mission—ensuring Zim wouldn't live to see another day. He had joined the group attacking from the North, where the closest entrance to Zim's quarters was located.

Time seemed to pass in a haze. Dib was only hardly aware of the hell that broke loose as his fellow humans darted from their hiding places in the darkness and attacked the androids Zim had resurrected to guard his tower.

His focus was on getting into the building during the commotion.

He did so without a hitch and continued further into it without pause to celebrate or admire his own planning. He had breached Zim's entrances, and was on his way to the Irken, himself.

He resolutely marched through the labyrinth, down the halls of tubes, wires, and buzzing electricity. It all looked so… barren. So unkempt. Thick layers of dust clung to it all, interspersed with cobwebs that stretched from surface to surface.

It all passed by Dib in a semi-aware blur as he sought what he was after.

At long last, he saw it. The door to Zim's private chambers. By now, the Southernmost group would have gained access to Zim's controls, disabling the scanners and touch screens that would otherwise pose a threat to Dib's ability to enter the room.

The metal door caved with a rough kick of his boot, and he barged inwards with his gun pointed out in front of him.

And sure enough, there he was.

Zim.

The Irken elite had turned his head from whatever he was doing, immediately locking eyes with Dib.

Dib was immediately hyperaware of how _small_ Zim really was. He couldn't have been any larger than a 10-year-old child.

Up close, he looked worn down. Paler than he used to. Thinner.

Dib could not discern if these physical differences were a trick of his own mind. After all, he had built him up to be this being of tremendous vigor and sadism, and his vision of Zim had only managed to warp itself more and more as years passed without seeing him in the flesh.

"Dib," Zim said, his attention turning to the barrel of the gun pointed at him. "I had a feeling this day would come."

"Did you really?" Dib said, sarcasm thick on his tongue. "Because it looks to me like we caught you by surprise."

But, indeed, Zim's expression was rather expectant. The Irken was unarmed, yes, but not wholly shocked nor dismayed to see him. Instead, he stood from the control consul he had been sitting at and faced Dib. "Yes. That's why I didn't want to give you the satisfaction of being the one to kill me."

Zim turned again, and Dib noticed something missing. It took him several long seconds before he realized what it was-Zim's PAK.

The device was sitting on the consul, dome-side up.

"I die tonight by my own hand, not yours."

"You're delusional if you don't think I won't still shoot you, right here, right now," Dib fired back, clenching his teeth.

For the briefest moment, Zim's dull eyes narrowed. "Then do it."

He had just one rusted bullet in the gun he wielded. One shot to get the job done.

Squaring his shoulders, he pointed it up a little higher. Put the slightest bit of pressure on the trigger. Then paused.

Dib squeezed down on it.

An earsplitting bang erupted throughout the room. 

Zim opened his eyes.

Inches beside him, his PAK lay smoking, sparks flying from it.

"I know better than to fall for your bluffs, Zim. I want to make sure you die. And stay dead. Every part of you. I can't risk you coming back to haunt me for the rest of my life."

Zim looked from the PAK and back to Dib wordlessly. Whatever he felt, his expression did an exceptionally good job hiding it.

Then, without another word, Dib stepped over the shrapnel on the ground and sat down next to Zim. Without his PAK, Zim had become exponentially less threatening. It didn't help that he looked so feeble and small. He would only have minutes until his body died and he was wiped from existence for good.

"What are you doing, filthy dirt monster?" Zim asked as the human drew closer to him.

"Waiting. I need to know my job is finished. How long should it take? 10 minutes? If that?"

Zim's eyes narrowed again, and he didn't meet Dib's gaze. "More or less."

They sat in silence for a moment.

"I expected you to put up more of a fight," Dib said, staring down at the dust-covered floor.

Zim didn't respond.

For what felt like the first time, Dib looked around at the room. "Did it feel good? Completing your mission? Taking over the world?"

Again, Zim didn't answer.

When Dib looked at him, though, his eyes were still alert. "Was it worth it? To get what you had asked for?"

Zim shifted a bit, and this time, he spoke. "They left me. Abandoned me and cut me off from any and all supplies. Told me they'd shoot me on sight if I ever returned." His words were a little unsteady. A little slow on his tongue.

Dib had suspected all of that. Somehow, hearing it come from Zim was almost more unexpected than seeing him admit defeat without a fight. Something stirred in him. A vague sort of realization that he had never accounted for in all his planning sessions in the camps. "You were really living on borrowed time, weren't you?" he asked the alien. "You couldn't have fought back even if you had wanted to. It's… all gone. All of your resources."

Zim neither confirmed nor denied this. In fact, when Dib looked back at him, it appeared as if he had not heard him at all. He was looking directly forward, laboring a bit for breath and wilting where he sat.

Within the next few minutes, Zim couldn't take even that anymore and sagged backwards until he was lying down, partially propped on the back of his computer's control panel.

At that point, Dib finally stood, his joints popping as he did so.

"W-whur… are y-you going?" Zim asked, flicking his eyes towards him.

Dib turned his head, his already-hardened expression becoming more severe. "I'm taking your Voot and getting the hell away from here. It's the least you could do after destroying my civilization, you pathetic son of a bitch."

Zim's eyes fluttered a bit, and he grunted a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. He didn't seem to truly comprehend any of what Dib had said.

His lips moved again, and Dib raised a brow. "What?"

He moved closer to Zim.

"W….Was it…w-worth it? Wh—whut y'asked for," he said, simply repeating what Dib had asked him moments before.

He answered anyway, listening to his words as if he were not speaking them. "No. The world has a sick sense of humor sometimes."

His low voice hung in the air, joining with the sounds of Zim's agonal breaths.

The Irken had closed his eyes, the only movement being the subtle rise and fall of his chest. Then, at last, it stopped. Zim breathed one final sigh and lay still.

Dib didn't change his expression. He bent down and lifted Zim's arm to check for a pulse. When he didn't find one, he stood back up, sighed, and turned on his heel.

Minutes later, he had found the Voot hanger. The engine roared to life, managing to slightly drown out the voices in his head.

The roof of the control tower cracked open, revealing a scattering of stars up above. He took to them, flying upwards and putting more and more distance between him and the planet he once called home.

All the while, he couldn't help but replay the last anticlimactic moments of his long-running rivalry with Zim. In truth, the word "rivalry" did not do their relationship justice. Whatever they had been doing, it had turned deadly, and ugly, and had left the both of them in shambles.

Those final minutes with Zim had filled him with a brew of emotions, starting in his chest and settling into a sick, curdling feeling in the pit of his stomach. As he broke through the atmosphere of Earth and immediately became swallowed up by the darkness of space, another thought rose to his mind. That despite his best efforts, Zim would always haunt him. Destroying his PAK and watching his body take its last breaths wouldn't remedy everything.

It would take far more than that.

And even as he soared onward to what should have been a new beginning, Dib felt not hope well up in his chest, but a sort of somber aching.


End file.
